Tested by the Whispered Fire
by coffeevixen84
Summary: Finn tells Rachel the truth about his night with Santana.
1. Chapter 1

Tested by the (Whispered) Fire

Author's Note: Part 1 of 2. This is a run-on thought of one way the reveal of Finn's tryst with Santana could go. (I seriously have four or five pieces I've been playing with that involve that bit of news coming out. I'm about to go crazy from the speculation. I kind of hope the writers deal with it soon.) At any rate, this is up to the confession from Finn's POV. Part 2 will be Rachel's perspective from the confession on.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, or the structural drama of their situation, I've just put words in their mouths and played with their emotions for my own amusement. (Which kinda makes me sound like a sadist.) Regardless, I'll return them to Ryan as good as new when I'm finished.

!

_It was the first cool night after a weeklong warm spell when he told her…_

Though it was early November, the chill somehow still surprised most everyone, as the crowd in the bleachers seemed to shiver in unison. But no one wanted to miss William McKinley's football team clench their first winning season in 11 years. Especially not the quarterback's girlfriend.

Finn thought Rachel looked particularly adorable, bundled up and beaming with pride for him. Despite her tiny stature and the fact that the stands were packed with fans, he picked her out immediately as he stepped out onto the field. Her dark curls framing her face as a fuzzy white cap warmed her ears. Her smile was wide and her eyes were bright, and he thought he'd never stop staring she was so beautiful.

But after she teasingly blew a kiss, and he rolled his eyes while he caught it (in a rare moment of carelessness as to who might have been watching), he forced his attention back to the game.

He was determined to win it, and even more determined to, when he did win, use the rush of victorious adrenaline to finally tell the girl he loved the only remaining untruth between them.

Because if the Titans could win 10 games in a single season than anything was possible.

He'd wanted to tell her all along, of course. The guilt had been gnawing at him since the moment he'd lied. But in the last five months of dating he'd still never managed to get the words out.

When she told him she had lied about being with Jesse, just two weeks into summer, it would have been the perfect opportunity to relieve himself of the burden, had she not followed her confession with the reason why she'd been unable to sleep with her ex. She explained she hadn't wanted to _lose_ her virginity; she'd wanted to give it to someone. As "romantically clichéd" as she thought it sounded, she didn't want it to be about sex and hormones and lust her first time. She wanted it to be about love. And she'd known, even when dating Jesse, that for her, that meant it needed to be with him.

She cried and kissed him and repeated how sorry she was that she had lied and how grateful she was that she had waited, and he wanted so badly to be able to offer the same in return that he pressed his mouth shut firmly as he held her to keep from weeping with shame.

Since then he'd been a constant coward.

But, in the last few weeks, things had been changing. He'd thought he and Rachel were solid, the real deal, from their moment at Regionals (and maybe before). But lately he could feel the relationship morphing into something even more, even stronger.

Granted, the school year had started a little rocky, but they had persevered.

Disappointment, jealousy, fear, frustration – these were no match for the way he loved Rachel Berry.

And they were certainly no match for the way she loved him.

Together, they'd made it passed the drama and petty arguments of the first few weeks, and then things had been amazing.

They'd always shared a special connection, a unique understanding of each other. But the bond was suddenly deeper than ever, and it felt like they were so perfectly in sync.

Finn also felt that their physical relationship was progressing with the same intensity.

So he decided he needed to tell her, now, because when they took the next step (and he could feel it coming), he didn't want a single secret between them.

He wanted her to know all of him when she, well, _knew_ all of him.

And it was with the strength of that conviction that he threw beautiful pass after beautiful pass against the late-autumn wind, until the slightly-frosted crowd roared at his triumph.

He was pulled along in the initial rush of celebration. Hugging his teammates in the manliest manner he could muster, high-fiving the fans that had stormed the field, and shaking his coach's hand. When he finally made it through to the sidelines where Rachel waited patiently, he pulled her to him without hesitation and rejoiced in her kiss.

He didn't stop until he felt Puck slap his shoulder, hard, while muttering about the kegs being delivered to Brittany's within the hour. He barely pulled away as he quickly declined the invitation to the post-game party, not even waiting for Puck's reply before turning his attention back to the girl in his arms.

To her soft inquiry he assured her he had no desire to watch his teammates make drunken fools of themselves, that all he wanted was time with her, and he promised to shower and change as fast as he could.

He memorized the adoration that lit up her eyes, blown away by how invincible she could make him feel with the love she held for him there.

And he hoped nothing could change that.

He exited the locker room 20 minutes later to see the stands and the parking lot still swarming with activity. He found Rachel waiting for him at his truck, bathed in the light of the streetlamp, with a book in her mittened hands. When she spotted him, the private smile she saved for his eyes only slipped into place and he leaned in to kiss her as he blindly fit the key into the lock behind her.

He didn't want to have such an important conversation in the car so the short ride to his house was filled with the small talk and comfortable silence of two people used to just being together. His hand held hers the entire way and he wondered if she knew he had something on his mind when her fingers squeezed at his.

As he led her into the darkened house he reviewed the words he'd practiced for days. Grabbing two bottles of water and a bag of imitation oreos, they made their way through the kitchen and to his room, silently, hands still intertwined.

She slipped her shoes off gracefully and sat down gently on his bed. After placing the drinks and cookies on his small desk, he moved as if to sit across from her in the chair, but she caught his hand and tugged lightly, scooting over to the opposite edge and laying on her side.

He carefully slid into place, turning to face her, his long legs bent at the knee to fit better on his narrow mattress.

Her lips found his, softly for just a second, before the passion that was Rachel Berry took over and her tiny hands reached for him, pushing up under his hoodie and setting his skin on delicious fire.

Her full lips nibbled at his, her smooth tongue teasing the seam, and he momentarily thought that he could keep waiting, briefly reconsidered his plan in full. But even as she did the most wonderful things with her mouth against his, he knew that more than he wanted to continue kissing her in this moment, he wanted to kiss her forever after without his lie hanging over his head. When with her, he wanted only to think of her lips and her body and her heart from here on out. So he rededicated himself to coming clean.

With more strength than he thought he actually possessed, he pulled slightly away.

He smiled at her groan of protest, at her eyes that remained shut tightly while her lips pouted enticingly and her puffs of breath continued at a slightly faster rate than normal.

He waited until her eyes finally fluttered open in confusion, and her breathing returned to slow and even, before he began in the careful whisper of a boy both hopeful and terrified.

"Rach, I need to tell you something."

He struggled against an instant lump in his throat, and as her confusion began to turn towards concern he felt a flowing dread fill up the pit of his stomach.

"You aren't going to like it. I don't like it either. But I love you, and I know you love me, and I believe that we can get through anything because of that."

Her worried expression swiftly evolved into one of panic and he hated that a far worse emotion would push across her features next.

"When I finally told you I loved you, I'm pretty sure those were the truest words I've ever spoken." He sighed a little, "And I hope you remember that, because I'm afraid I haven't always been so honest."

They were still so close that he could feel her hard-swallow as much as he could hear it, but her hands had slipped from his sides and he missed her touch already.

"That night, when you _weren't_ with Jesse, I _was_ with Santana. I lied to you. I did sleep with her."

His voice had drifted so low, so small, he wondered if she'd even heard him when a reaction didn't immediately transform her face.

But he doubted he could have repeated it if he tried. And he knew Rachel could read lips anyway.

Her gaze, which had stayed locked on his during his confession, fell, and it was a light glistening along the delicate length of her eyelashes that let him know she had shed a tear.

She didn't make a sound.

He went to lift his hand, moving it to wipe the moisture from her cheek, but she caught his wrist and pushed his arm back to his side, shaking her head once.

"Rach-"

She gave another shake before she spoke, her eyes still purposefully averted.

"Why?"

His eyebrows pinched together, unsure of what exactly she was asking. Why had he done it at all? Why had he lied? Why had he waited so long to tell her? He knew they were all fair questions, but he wasn't sure which she was starting with.

He should have known she'd sense his confusion because after a deep breath she continued. "Why did you sleep with her?"

He gulped.

Why he'd lied or why he'd waited would have been easier to answer.

His voice was strained as he tried to put what he'd felt then into words. "I was angry. And jealous, and hurt." He forced himself to take a breath, though the whole process of inhaling and exhaling was starting to feel more difficult. "And I didn't think until it was too late that none of those were very good reasons for having sex. Especially not for the first time."

She looked at him finally, eyes covered in a glassy sheen, yet oddly vacant beyond the tears.

Which scared him.

"You were angry, jealous, and hurt?"

"Yes."

"Like I am now?"

It would have stung so much less if she had slapped him.

It was with a broken gasp that he answered, "Yes."

She continued to stare at him and he couldn't take the way it felt to see her eyes without a trace of warmth, without the love he'd delighted in just moments earlier. His voice was desperate, but slightly stronger, as he struggled to explain.

"It was such a mess, Rachel. I was furious that you'd wanted me for months, but were suddenly gone when I finally realized how much I wanted you too. I hated that I was to blame for that. That I'd taken so long, too long, to figure it out. I was going crazy thinking about you singing with him, and laughing with him. Kissing him, and letting him…. when I thought you….all when you should have been mine. When Santana propositioned me, I thought that if me being with her could cause you just a tiny fraction of the hurt I felt thinking you were with him, that it'd serve you right for you not waiting for me just a little bit longer."

He heaved a weighted breath, a stifled sob buried in the exhale, "But, God, Rachel, I am so sorry. I'm sorry that it happened. I regretted it immediately. It didn't mean anything. And I'm sorry that I didn't tell you then, or any other time since. I was just so ashamed, so sick with myself, and I didn't want you to be too." Several tears had fallen now but he couldn't care. Those who thought men shouldn't cry had obviously never had something they were desperate not to lose. "I couldn't stand the thought of being without you again. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, Rach. Please."

He reached out to touch her again, and though she flinched at his hand on her arm she didn't push him away. He scooted in closer, removing the last little bit of space on the bed between them and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. Her breathing was getting heavier, and she squeezed her eyes shut, and she'd move her head if he got too close to her lips, but she hadn't said she hated him and she hadn't run away, so he continued to press kisses where he could as his tears fell and mixed with hers and he murmured apology after apology into the quiet of the room.

But then she stiffened, then she whispered, "No," and repeated it with more force and volume when his kisses didn't stop.

He pulled back and held himself still as he watched her, not even taking a breath, for fear she was about to push his heart off the edge.

"Finn, I have to go."

And his heart fell into oblivion.

"No. No, Rach. Stay. We can talk this out. We can get through this. _I love you_, and _you love me_, and _nothing_ is more important than that."

She must have started crying harder, because he finally heard the gasps and the hiccups as her heartache battled her own body. She began slipping off the bed and he was quick to follow her, he crowded beside her as she collected her things.

"Rachel, please don't go. You have to stay. It was before we were even together, damn it. And I'm so sorry. Please. _Please_…"

She stood up straight then, her shoes and her coat on, her purse and hat clutched tightly at her side, placing her other hand's fingers to his lips. Her eyes were no longer empty of emotion, but they were so wide and devastated Finn actually thought it might be worse.

Her voice, that he took comfort in usually for being so strong and so crisp, always so marvelously clear, was now paper thin and punched with holes. "I have to go, I, uh, need to think. And I just _can't_ be here right now." she paused and he was stunned at how unprepared he'd been for the possibility that she'd hear what he had to say then leave.

"I _do_ love you, Finn. And I believe that you love me. But I just need space or time or something. I…" her voice faded without finishing the thought and his eyes shut in pained resistance as her lips pressed a kiss against his forehead, and then he let her go.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

She didn't think as she made her way down the shadowed hall, through the kitchen and living room, out the front door. She gulped for oxygen, as if air alone could heal her heart, but she did _not_ think.

Until she stepped onto the front stoop, staring a moment into the night's near-blackness, and realized she had no way home.

Then all she could think was a long string of the curse words she never ever spoke out loud.

She let out a shaking frustrated breath, the idea of a long walk home in the freezing darkness really only being one of the reasons she felt so tempted to turn around and go back inside.

But she pulled her hat farther down over her ears and took one step, and then another.

And once she started she couldn't stop herself, practically running the whole 17 blocks to her house, a burn building in her lungs as the sting of wind whipped at her tear-dampened cheeks.

She was disappointed to see a little light shining through the drawn curtains of the front window. She didn't want to tell her fathers anything, she didn't really even know what she could say, so she paused at the side-view mirror on her daddy's car to wipe any moisture from under her eyes and to make sure nothing of her inner turmoil was written across her face.

Her fathers had heard about the win and were surprised to see her home so soon. But despite what she deemed the worst performance of her young life, they seemed to believe her offered explanations of Finn's exhaustion and her concern for her voice being out too long in the cold. She kissed their cheeks with chapped lips and said goodnight.

In a childish wave of spite she decided that she wouldn't let this, _him_, interfere with her routine. She was not so affected that she could do nothing but wallow. She was stronger than that.

So she brushed her teeth and washed her face and combed her hair smooth before pulling it back. She slipped into flannel pajamas taken from her top drawer, ignoring the much too-large McKinley High Athletic Dept. t-shirt that was folded neatly beneath her pillows. She turned off her light and climbed into bed and forced her breathing to slow.

But she could not make her eyes close. She could not capture sleep.

Because now she _was_ thinking; all sorts of things, way too quickly, and she could not make it all stop.

She was a girl who was used to thinking fast (and talking fast, and moving fast; she had a bright future she was hurrying towards, after all) but this was different. This was all blurred and heavy, dizzying.

She was distracted by a hollowing sensation in her belly, a scorching in her throat, an ache at her temples. She laid in agony.

And she wasn't really sure why.

Was it the anger that was wreaking havoc on her body, or the jealousy eating away at all sense in her mind? She was emotionally hurting, was that why she felt like she was still suffocating after every breath?

She was falling apart, but did she even have the right to be? This didn't really change anything, did it? Anything important, anyway?

Like he said. It was before they were together.

Before they were _in love. _

He'd still picked _her_, hadn't he?

He'd wanted her, loved her, spent the last five months at her side.

Didn't that all count for more than one night with Santana…_before_?

She thought she knew that it did. But it felt like a complicated math equation. One where she suspected she had the right answer, but still needed to carefully check her work. Maybe it was a multiple-choice quiz. Those always tried to trick you.

Her mind began to replay the saga of her and Finn Hudson, from the moment they had met. She stared through the dark and saw over a year's worth of her life flash by, almost every important moment somehow devoted to him.

She woke to morning light, unsure of how or when she'd finally fallen asleep. Unsure of how his t-shirt had gotten curled up in her hands.

Still, she got up and went through the motions of a typical Saturday morning. But her legs felt sluggish, heavy, as she forced herself onto her elliptical. Her decaf soy latte was thick and bitter in her throat. Not a single thing in the latest New Yorker sparked even a glimmer of interest.

When the afternoon arrived she finally gave up all pretenses, curling into her favorite oversized armchair and watching the drab November day pass slowly, grateful her fathers weren't home to witness her melancholy.

She was almost mad at herself for being surprised at all, being shocked that something like this would happen. Since she'd met him, had she not told herself countless times that he was out of her reach? That he couldn't possibly fill the role she so desperately wanted him to? Because real life wasn't anything like a musical, and no matter how great their voices sounded together, girls like her didn't get to end up with guys like him?

But even as she tried to scold herself with "I-told-you-so"s, she knew that these things weren't really true.

If he couldn't fill the role she'd wanted him to play, it was only because the real Finn was so much better than she'd ever dared to imagine, and loved her more than she'd ever thought to dream. In the last five months she'd learned they went well together in many more ways than just vocally.

Like how she fit perfectly on his lap.

And how they each only liked certain colors of Sour Patch Kids (her: orange and yellow, him: green and red) so they could split a single bag whenever they went to the movies.

Or how they both wanted a collie because of old _Lassie _reruns.

And how sometimes when there wasn't anything good on TV he liked to listen to her read from Harry Potter out loud, and didn't mind that she used the opportunity to practice her British accents.

No matter how much easier it might make things, she honestly could not doubt for a second that Finn truly loved her. And she could not regret having taken the risk that he'd hurt her when she'd kissed him again last spring. Even knowing how lost she felt now.

She wasted hours, tucked into herself, crying sometimes softly, and wondering where they could go from here. She'd decided nothing important had really changed, but somehow things still felt _different_. And she wondered when or how she'd be able to look at him and see only that he loved her. Not that he loved her, but had still given something she'd wanted badly to someone else.

When the house began to darken as the late afternoon slipped towards an early sunset she dragged her tangled limbs from the chair and made some soup. She blew on it softly, sipping at it while the steam floated up against her face. It tickled. And the sensation made her smile.

It hadn't even been twenty-four hours, and already that smile felt foreign to her features. And suddenly she was desperate to not have that be the case anymore.

She set her dinner down quickly, and rushed up to her room. She bypassed the mirror entirely as she threw her hair in a ponytail and pulled her coat tightly around her frame. Making her way to her car she tried to write a script for what she needed to do, what she wanted to say, but by the time she'd driven to his house and parked the car she had decided whatever felt right in the moment would probably be best.

She was relieved that his truck was in the driveway, and also that his mother's car was gone. She knocked on the door tentatively at first, but then remembering who she was there to see, gave it harder pound before standing still to wait.

He opened the door and she almost collapsed. He looked awful.

Still beautiful, of course. But drained and weary. Like even a simple smile would be foreign to him too.

He blinked slowly, twice, and she assumed that meant he thought he was unsure of what he was seeing. She reached forward without a word and took his hand, and when he stepped back in surprise at the contact she pushed her way in and started the familiar route to his room.

She let go of his hand to turn and shut the door behind them. She unhurriedly removed her coat and hung it on the back of the desk chair for some last minute stalling, but she felt him watching her intently so she finally forced her gaze back to his.

She swallowed desperately when she saw through the tears in her own eyes that his were wet too.

She took the two steps necessary to stand right before him, and still without a word passing between them, she leaned down and forward to kiss him lightly.

A sob broke the silence at the meeting of their lips, and she wasn't completely sure but she thought the cry had come from him.

She could feel how tense his entire body was even through this minimal, almost-motionless contact and she internally questioned whether he didn't respond because he didn't want to, or because he was afraid she'd pull away if he moved.

She drew back and opened her eyes gradually, taking him in. He remained still, eyes shut, back straight. He sounded like he was struggling to breathe.

"Finn. Look at me."

Her voice sounded unfamiliar to her own ears, roughened from being so unused all day.

His eyes opened, and she saw hope in them, but it was floating beneath what she suspected were sadness and caution.

It was so difficult for her not to throw her arms around him. She wondered if he felt that way too.

"I need you to understand that I'm not angry with you. Because I can see how terrifically unfair that would be." She cleared her throat a little, trying to regain at least a little sense of self. "You were right, it was before we were together. And I lied too. Maybe you should have told me sooner, but I'm not sure it would have hurt any less if you had."

He winced a little, but she soldiered on and noticed her voice strengthen with a sudden simmering fury.

"But I am angry, over a million other things. Circumstances and fate. Your choices, mine. I'm so angry with Jesse for getting in the way, and Shelby for putting him there. And, I'm so furious at Santana I could scream. For being so careless about things that should matter, and thinking everyone else should be careless too. For undoubtedly taking for granted something that I would have cherished for the rest of my life."

She hated that his face crumpled at her words when she honestly hadn't been trying to make him feel worse, but she needed to say all this and she did need him to listen, so she looked away but she didn't stop.

"I hate how envious I am, Finn. I guess I hadn't really thought about how much it meant to me that we'd get to be together first, that way, because since we started dating I assumed it was going to be a given. And now that I know it's impossible, that someone else already has something I'd unconsciously been counting on? It's like no other feeling I've ever had. I feel as crazy as everyone else always thinks I am right now. I desperately want something I truly cannot have, and it's maddening. But I know that I can't blame that on you. I wanted to be your first, but I had no right to just expect it. Your actions only have to measure up to who you want to be and what you want from your life. What I want has nothing to do with it. You made me no promises. You didn't _owe_ me anything."

He tried to interrupt her there, an anguished first syllable of her name slipping from his mouth in rebuttal. But he froze when her eyes returned to his, pleading.

"I'm saying this because I want you to know why I needed to leave last night, and why I needed to isolate myself all day. But I'm not finished yet, because I also need to tell you why I'm here now."

She moved to sit beside him, not quite touching but so close she could sense that he was shaking. She moved her hand to hover over where his rested on his lap then she took a deep breath as clasped it tightly.

"It was never a matter of _if_ I could get over this. Just of when. And I came here tonight because, no matter what, I could never willingly go back to that place where you weren't mine, to that time when I had no right to just kiss you because I wanted to. And I can't pretend, even for a day, that losing you is a price I'm capable of paying. I want to be with you, Finn. I've always wanted to be with you. And now that I am, I'm not going to let _us_ be something else Santana takes from me. I'm not okay with it all just yet, but I know that I will be. And I needed you to know that you were right; we love eachother and we _can_ get through anything."

She was momentarily stunned as all the weight of his existence, physical and otherwise, launched at her, enveloping her totally. He was so warm and his hold on her was crushing her in the most welcomed way, and she could taste relief on his skin as she pressed her lips to his neck. His voice was muffled by the fabric of her sweater and the flesh and bone of her shoulder, but she knew what he was saying clearly as the "I love you"s vibrated through his chest.

He clung to her as minutes passed, maybe hours. She didn't mind.

When he finally released her from the lock of his arms, he sniffled and wiped at his nose with his sleep. Rimmed in red, his eyes were still breathtaking, and she ran her thumb in a caress along the top of his cheek to remove the last of his tears.

He spoke softly. "I really am sorry, Rach."

"I know. And I'm sorry, too."

They sat another moment, just breathing and watching each other, before his eyes flickered to the pillows behind her and she caught the question in them. She nodded, just slightly, and waited for him to lay down and find a position that was comfortable, before fitting herself into the limited space beside him.

His head was turned to face her, a tiny smile pulling at just the edges of his lips. "You still love me."

She whispered as she kissed him. "I really, really do."


End file.
